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I have to replay that in my mind a few times before it registers, but when it does it makes a surprising amount of sense. I’ve known for a while now that Lisa is the kind of woman who would love me for me, but now I know she’s the kind of woman who will love me in spite of myself. She doesn’t have unrealistic or impossible standards that I’ll never meet. She doesn’t want to rid me of the qualities she doesn’t love. Her feelings don’t come with terms. She’s unconditional, the way it should be. The way I need to be if I’m going to keep her.
"The epilogue did say To Be Determined." I run my hand through my hair.
"See?" Colt slaps me on the back. "Now, I'd tell you to cheer up and have a drink with me, but I'm betting you'd rather go get your girl."
I drop a few bills on the counter and turn to leave, but the sight of Colt stops me in my tracks. I need to say something, but what?
"I know. I'm the last guy you'd expect to get romantic advice from." He sips his beer.
"I wasn't going to say that." Although his active dating life is public knowledge, I wasn't going to comment on it.
"But you were thinking it," he smirks.
"I've been on the receiving end of that speculation before, so I wouldn't make the same mistake. I was actually trying to think of how to thank you."
"Maybe you'll return the favor one day." It's an odd comment from someone who adamantly prefers the single life, but I don't have time to dwell on that now.
"I hope I can."
He gives me a quick nod. "Go get your girl."
Chapter 28
Lisa
Years of writing romance novels did nothing to prepare me for my own heartbreak. I thought after channeling distress for my characters over and over again, I’d be a little better at navigating this situation. But channeling emotion is one thing. Living it is something else entirely.
I manage to slog through my days without completely falling apart, mainly because I have no other option. True, I’m still hiding out a bit by not going into the office and facing everyone. After all, how will I explain that mere days after my relationship with Chris was revealed it’s, what? Suspended? Ended? I don’t even know. All I know is I can’t face the questions I don’t know how to answer. So I hide out at home and focus on my daily work. For Engage.
Writing is permanently on hold. Aside from the story I wrote for Chris, I don’t have the energy or desire to think about romance. I’m not even sure that story will do any good. It was, after all, putting on paper what transpired between us, which didn't go well for Harper and Jason. Yes, I know that’s a different circumstance, but Chris doesn’t, so he might view my actions as the ultimate betrayal. I’m hoping he reads my words before coming to that conclusion, though. If he just reads what I have to say, maybe he’ll change his mind. Maybe he’ll see that romances can also be beautiful, and since that particular romance is straight out of real life, maybe he’ll see how much he means to me.
The wait is killing me, though. I gave the hard drive to Charlie the day after giving him my book, and that was four days ago. I have no idea if or when he may have passed it on to Chris, and I’ve already involved him in my love life too much to bug him about it anymore. I have to be on my own now, which means waiting, and fretting, and a diet of ice cream or wine depending on the time of day.
A knock at the door jostles me back to the present. I’m tempted to ignore it, but on the off-chance it’s Charlie with news, I’d never forgive myself for the delay. I pull myself off the couch, tie my hair back so it doesn’t look as dirty as it is, and open the door.
Chris stands in the doorway, looking sexy as ever with a few days’ worth of scruff on his face and wearing a pullover that hugs his chest. My breath catches in my throat. I want nothing more than to jump into his arms and hold on, but his expression is grim. He’s probably here to break up with me. I feel the tears gathering behind my eyes, but I’m not going to cry in front of him. If he can’t look past what I do for a living, can’t accept that Charlie is fine with me working at Engage, I’ll be heartbroken, but I won’t let him see that.
Chris extends his hand, and for the first time, I notice he’s holding on to something. A book. Confused, I gingerly take it from his hand, careful not to brush fingers with him lest I lose all my resolve.
The cover is a fountain pen resting on a beautiful piece of cream stationary. The Writer is written in calligraphy in the middle of the page, almost like a book title.
“You had my book printed?” I stare at him in disbelief.
“I had our book printed.” He opens the jacket and shows me the new dedication. “One copy.”
The Writer
Michele Lenard & Will Travler
“Will Travler?”
Chris shrugs. “Pen name.”
“Meaning?”
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” He smiles cautiously.
I try not to smile as I look back at the book in my hand. Joking is a good sign, right? I step back, giving him room to come inside, and flip through to the first few pages.
